Phandaria's Queen
by CWolf2
Summary: After the fall of the Aethersphere both Garr and Mary return to Phandaria to move on with their perspective lives.  As both work to secure and rebuild the war torn country a search for Phandaria's future queen begins. A Tales of Destiny I story.
1. Discractions

**Distractions**

King Garr Kelvin sat regally beneath a towering blue-velvet banner that bore his family's silver crest. He looked every bit of a Phandarian king, with his ceremonial blue robes, sapphire studded crown and erect posture.

However, despite the picture he presented to the Royal Court, all that regality came at the steep price of his sanity. Garr could not remember being this bored in his entire adult life.

It was hard to look stately when certain noble lords tried his patience by wasting precious minutes with redundant chatter. As the middle aged Duke Stern droned on and on, Garr seriously pondered if it were possible to declare "wasting the king's time" an act of treason.

Garr clenched his back teeth and tightened his tanned fingers over the arms of his gilded throne, willing the duke to get to the point. Twenty minutes into his audience and the Duke had yet to address the topics of the day's agenda.

He quietly exhaled through his nose to center himself. How he wished for the wise and clever council of his swordian partner Igtenos. Surely the sword spirit could have figured out a way to silence the duke without jeopardizing Garr's relationships with the members of his Royal Court.

After taking a moment to examine the curiously large jeweled ring on his finger that marked him as heir to the throne, Garr's eyes slowly roamed the cavernous throne room.

He glanced over the vast and shiny tiled floor that, if seen from the balcony, formed a large abstract gold-flecked snowflake. Then, for a split second, Garr pondered if he could figure out how many tiles there were; granted they were all equal in size and if the room could be divided into perfect squares or rectangles…

With an incredible effort Garr forced himself to focus on the duke, who showed no signs of ending his long-winded exposition. Two heartbeats were all it took for Garr to become distracted again.

One by one Garr counted the number palace guards positioned around the room. Four in the balcony, two to his right and left, 20 lining the atrium and about ten more among the noble lords and ladies of the Phandarian Royal Court.

Shortly after his head count, Garr incidentally locked gazes with a young countess who blushed and lowered her eyes shyly; Garr instantly averted his gaze to the great stained glass windows that rose into the fathomless ceiling. The last thing he needed was blushing ladies and their romantic misinterpretations.

A cold sweat suddenly gripped the handsome king. The last couple of "misinterpretations" had led to the drawing of unwanted marriage contracts and angry provincial lords. Whether it was the fluttering of a young lady's heart or the opportunistic gleam in the eyes of an aristocratic parent, Garr wanted none of it.

This led him to wonder what made an ideal queen? Or to better put it, _his_ ideal queen. It was only a matter of time before his High Council pestered him to marry and produce and heir.

Garr's blue eyes became distant and the duke's drone slowly faded into the background of his mind. If he were to chose a queen she'd be nothing like the noble duchesses and ladies of the court.

First of all she would not be a lady who idled away the day, safely hidden behind the walls of a manor. Garr desired someone with some ambition; after all his queen would have to support his rule of Phandaria. Yes, the fire of aspiration was a key characteristic in his future wife.

… Kind, his queen would have a warm heart; willing to put others before her own desires. However, that did not mean he wanted that confused with submission -just the capacity for empathy and the ability to act on it. His queen had to have a spine after all.

And loyalty. Garr's future queen would indeed be loyal to her husband, but her loyalty to the people would come first.

Of course she would be intelligent and savvy enough to deal with court politics and national policy. And even if she was inexperienced in such matters, she must show a willingness to learn. Garr could almost imagine intellectually stimulating conversations by the fire in his chambers.

But what other characteristic would his queen require? A little pang of saddens flickered in Garr's chest.

Strength.

His queen needed strength. A frail queen was a dead queen; Garr learned this early in life. His mother, both kind and warm, did not see his seventh year because of her frail body. This meant that Garr's queen would be strong enough to shoulder the pressures of the crown as well as take on the responsibility of bearing the nation's heir.

What else … Garr examined his fingers absently.

His queen would be a healthy woman- one the revels in his beloved nation's harsh climate. Why… they could travel together, and live off the road as they toured the nation!

Garr may have been getting a little ahead of himself, but his thoughts had built up too much momentum for him to even think of stopping now.

… And beautiful. She would be unique, much different than the manufactured beauties that made up most of the Phandarian aristocracy. Garr was tired of pale delicate faces that were the result of years being kept largely indoors. Yes, Phandaria was a land covered in snow, but with the sun's rays both shining down from the sky and reflected by the snow, most Phandarians develop a permanent and healthy tan to their skin.

He also wanted someone vibrant, both in spirit and appearance! His ideal queen would have a lithe and supple body, of course with the appropriate contours (curves). A ready smile and hair the color of…

Garr discreetly chewed the inside of his lip. What would be a good hair color for a queen? Honey blonde? Chestnut? Maybe black… No, Garr decided. It had to be something more eye catching like. Red. Yes, a vivacious red!

A bell chimed in the distance, and all of Garr's senses instantly tuned towards the great hall. Was it noon already?

Garr zeroed in on the finely dressed man that stood before his throne. The switch back to reality was unpleasantly jarring for the snowy haired king.

"…As you can see our investments continue to turn a profit, despite the misfortune to our lands…" Duke Stern ended with bow and haughtily stroked his goatee.

Garr suppressed an inward groan and answered somberly, "That is all well and good, Duke Stern, but you still failed to mention anything about the reconstruction of the boarder villages located in your province. If you are turning such profits, it makes me wonder why I bother to send you reconstruction aid."

The duke rubbed his jewel-studded hands nervously together. "Ah yes, your majesty. I-"

"I am sorry Duke Stern, but you have run out of time. If you wish to inform me about the state of the villages within your jurisdiction _as I had asked_, please submit a written report to the Reconstruction Committee," Garr said graciously, though quickly enough to keep the duke reeling. He had to end this quickly, because midday had finally come.

"Chamberlain Russet?" Garr said quickly before the duke could muster a protest.

A graying man of fifty in dark robes walked to the center of the throne room and loudly called a 30-minute recess.

Garr was out of his throne before the chamberlain's mace could even hit the floor.

**vVv**

Garr's long legs carried him swiftly through the palace halls racing past bowing attendants and palace guards. With each punctuated step a small pang of guilt pulsed in his chest.

He usually wasn't such a pitiful excuse of a king, and Garr did pride himself on having a longer attention span than a toddler. But he could not account for his restlessness this past week.

Actually that wasn't at all true, because Garr had a sneaking suspicion that the mail delivery, or lack thereof, had something to do with his flakiness.

After dozens of brief nods of acknowledgment to the castle staff, Garr finally approached the gilded double door that led to his chambers.

Unable to contain his urgency and impatience, Garr let his finely cut robes fall the floor in a graceless heap. Dressed in fine dark trousers and a clinging soft gray shirt, he rushed to his desk were a silver platter awaited him.

His hands nearly shook with anticipation as he reached for the platter that was piled high with scrolls and envelops. Garr dove into the pile with the gusto of a child during the winter solstice festival.

Three letters with the Seinegald royal seal hit the floor with a crassness that used to make his royal attendants swoon in horror. Other stationary from local noble houses were met with the same disrespectful treatment. There was only one letter seal that Garr had eyes for.

'_There!'_

Garr pulled an envelope made of a rough brownish paper from the depth of the pile. A flaking wax crest marked the envelop as stationary from deep within the mountain clans.

Garr made quick work of the seal with a jewel-handled letter opener and started to read.

A grin spread across his attractive features when he read the sloppy scrawl across the bottom of the page. Garr squinted at the signature, which somehow resembled sword strokes rather than letters. With hands better suited to hold weapons than any writing utensil the writer's penmanship certainly was … different.

It had been two and a half years since Garr established United Mountain Guard of Phandaria. And as his first major project as king, Garr felt a sense of paternal pride as the military division grew and evolved.

In an attempt to curb tensions in the poverty stricken mountainous region, Garr and his military advisors painstakingly gathered the various clans to form a coalition. This new coalition not only offered much needed jobs and economic stimulus to the region, but it allowed Garr spread his influence to the furthest reaches of Phandaria.

With any luck this move would also help prevent a civil war similar to the one under his father, king Sark.

Garr may have gotten the ball rolling on this division, but the head captain made it work. As a victim of the tensions between the mountain and valley regions of Phandaria, the captain had boldly stepped forward to lead his newly minted United Mountain Guard.

And now Garr was eager to read the captain's monthly report, which was an unforgivable three days late. Garr's eyes quickly scanned the scribbled contents of the report and his grin unconsciously spread into a full out smile.

The captain's casually blunt assessments were unintentionally humorous, and Garr always enjoyed himself as he familiarized with the division's unique dynamic.

He was busily discerning more of the United Mountain Guard's latest escapades when a polite knock at the door announced the arrival of a palace servant.

Garr grimaced and reluctantly put down the report. Without waiting for a reply a young man in finely made servant's clothing walked in and gathered Garr's disregarded robes in his arms. He had long since gotten used the king's fickle behavior at this time of the month, which heralded the mail delivery.

The young man then politely intoned, "Your majesty, the recess is over, and your presence is required in the audience hall."

Garr let his attendant help him into his robes and then resigned himself to face another three hours of summit with the Royal Court.

And just like that, the highlight of Garr's day was over.

**vVv**

Garr tried and failed to quell his impatiently tapping fingers on the arms of his throne. His stomach rumbled quietly and Garr quietly lamented that fact that he never ordered anything to eat from the kitchens; deciphering the captain's handwriting was the unintended culprit of his empty stomach.

When the Phandarian king didn't think it were possible become any more irritable than he already was, the chamberlain raucously rapped his mace on the polished throne room floor.

"Will Lord Berg of Southern Frostheim please step forth," the chamberlain's announcement echoed through the large chamber.

An older gentleman dressed in a sturdy yet fine tunic and trousers stepped forward. If Garr remembered correctly Lord Berg governed the lesser-known Southern Frosteim, which was a collection of livestock farmers.

The nobleman rose from his deep bow to look directly at his king. That was when Garr noticed the exhausted and haggard appearance on the nobleman's face.

"If you will excuse my lack of courtly etiquette, but the matter I bring is of most importance, your majesty," Lord Berg said.

"Proceed," Garr encouraged, all his petty feelings of irritation melted away into concern. It was time he finally act like a king.

"As you know since the calamity thee years ago, the number of roaming monsters has increased. And my village has recently fallen prey to a particularly gruesome horde for the last month."

The country lord balled his large weathered hands into fists and took a deep breath. "We are a small village and unable to put up much resistance to the nocturnal raids. The beasts aim for our livestock, but have recently developed a taste for human flesh. And I can not bear to lose another villager."

Lord Berg's thin drawn face colored with fury, "I've sent countless pleas to Frostheim's militia for help, but to no avail. I have even sent my sons out to every major city within a three day's ride only to return with empty promises, and my youngest has yet to return."

Garr's sharp eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Frostheim's militia had a four town jurisdiction, which included the small town of Southern Frostheim. But given the current situation of the larger coastal city, they had their hands full clearing monsters from the shipping routes that led to Seinegald. There was no blame in this situation; the entire country was stretched thin.

Lord Berg's voice grew stronger as he continued. "The people are terrified and fear that their country has forgotten them!"

The older nobleman stopped and checked his emotions before quietly pleading, "Given the situation, I beg you to send the royal guard to aid us in this emergency."

Garr was stonily silent for a few moments and the entire court waited with baited breath. Little did the court know that he was about to do something uncharacteristically rash.

"Lord Berg," Garr said solemnly.

The nobleman straightened his spine; fearful he would be reprimanded for losing his composure in the presence of the king.

"Rest in the palace tonight. I will arrange rooms for you and your contingent. I want you then to leave first thing in the morning. Go back to your town and tell the people that the kingdom has not forgotten them. In two days time I will ride to Southern Frostheim with the royal guard, you have my word."

Lord Berg looked as if his knees would buckle from sheer relief. "Thank you," he bowed deeply, as Garr signaled for a palace attendant to make arrangements.

The throne room was abuzz with murmuring and speculations. While the next provincial lord readied to speak, Garr glanced at the royal council members. All of the old men were veterans of his father and grandfather's reign, and all showed signs of disapproval on their wrinkled faces.

Garr's broad shoulders sunk, it was going to be a long day. But if it would get him out of the palace to help his people, he was willing to do almost anything; namely facing off against cantankerous old men.

**vVv**

**Tilso Forest**

A regiment of fifty soldiers trudged through a dense forest of towering pine trees, riding atop powerfully built mountain rams. It was noon and a light yet insistent snow showered the land. Each soldier wore a deep green fur-lined cloak that was heavily frosted from the never-ending fine white flakes.

At the lead, riding atop a shaggy midnight black beast was the apparent leader. A heavy axe was strapped to this person's back and beneath it was a finely crafted sword.

"How far?" asked a husky feminine voice, raw from the cold.

"My village is full day's ride southeast from here captain," replied a boy no older than fifteen.

His young face was prematurely aged with fear and worry. "I'm afraid we must hurry now that we're out of the mountains. I don't mean to rush, but I'm just worried..." he trailed off sadly.

"I understand."

Throwing back a snow-laden cowl, a think shock of stunning red hair tumbled down the leader's back, bound in a thick ponytail. She raised her gloved fist in the air and shouted, "Let's ride!"

As she urged her steed into a ground-eating gallop, and kicked up dirt and snow to a chorus of burly male voices cheered in her wake.

TBC


	2. When Zombies Attack

**When Zombies Attack**

Under the bright mid morning sun, Garr led some 75 soldiers along with the general of the 3rd squad Heidelburg Royal Army. His heavy blue shoulder-armor glinted in the morning light, and he had both sword and quiver equipped at his side. Garr checked his travel pack, which was strapped to the saddle of his white mount, before frowning over his shoulder to where a smaller steed followed submissively.

"What?" a rosy cheeked Chelsea pouted back.

Garr turned back into his saddle, not trusting himself to speak. He couldn't believe the nerve of this girl sometimes. Master Alba's granddaughter or not, sneaking onto their caravan after he explicitly told her she not to, was beyond vexing.

Yes, Chelsea was a little spoiled, but this was not the time for games.

"I just want to help," the teen grumbled behind him.

Garr's shoulders slumped as he sighed. "I know, Chelsea, but as a citizen of Phandaria you must learn to respect your king's wishes. You are almost sixteen and this childishness must stop."

Chelsea bit the inside of her lip and did not answer back. She could feel hot shame-filled tears blur her the corners of her vision.

Garr shook his head. "I'm only worried about you Chelsea. Its too late for us to turn back now, and I don not know what to expect when we reach Southern Frostheim," he admitted to the young archer.

Chelsea straightened in the saddle and threw out her small chest while holding her bow. "You forget. I'm the best archer in all of Phandaria, even the old man can't hold a candle to my skill." She grinned reassuringly.

At this Garr grinned wryly, _'such a willful child.'_

**vVv**

It was well into the night when Chelsea found herself blindly stumbling around a large farm compound. Dead livestock littered the snow-covered ground, torn and ripped apart in the most grisly fashion. It was only due to the freezing temperatures that made the sickly sweet stench of carrion bearable to the pink haired archer.

In the distance Chelsea heard the faint cries of soldiers and the eerie howl of monsters. If she looked hard enough she could make out warm red and orange spheres, which she concluded to be torchlight flickering over the expansive grazing fields.

Shortly after reaching Southern Frostheim, Garr was whisked away by the region's ruling lord, leaving Chelsea in the care of the innkeeper's wife. It was pure luck that she was able to escape the kind (overbearing) old lady and sneakily tail Garr and his soldiers later that night.

Sticking to the shadows of an old wooded area, Chelsea was able to stay out of the torchlight and silently observes Garr and his men; ready to prove her skills at the drop of a hat.

However, when they reached the farm compound a heated battle was already in progress. Chelsea couldn't hear what Garr said, but the look on his face spoke highly of his surprise. He only had to raise his gauntleted fist to get his men charging into the fray, which left the young archer in the chilling darkness all alone.

Chelsea had tried to follow by kicking her mount into a run, but soon after exiting the safety of the trees the small mount spooked after stumbling over the remains of an eviscerated goat. Within the blink of an eye, Chelsea was laid out on the cold gory ground as her steed raced back to the safety of the village.

Now with an arrow cocked and ready, Chelsea carefully navigated the dark fields. The only illumination the young archer had to go by was the muted watery-yellow moonlight that escaped the foreboding cloud cover. With the eerie lighting, the barn houses and carcass-laden fields took on a nightmarish appearance.

Chelsea swallowed thickly and her clammy fingers struggled to grip her weapon. With each uncertain step her faith in her archery skills waned, despite her bold declaration earlier that day. How was she to aim and shoot if she could barely make out the tip of her cocked arrow?

The only comfort the girl took was from the warm glow of torches burning across the large farm compound. She soon concluded that fighting in groups was way better than fighting alone, especially in the dark.

Carefully Chelsea crept on. The stillness of the grounds was terrifying, and the only sounds audible were her pounding heart and irregular breaths.

Suddenly a gurgling groan made the fine hairs on the back of Chelsea's neck stand on end. Chelsea squinted to make out a dark silhouette moving in the gloom. The creepy groans were quickly replaced by the disgusting sound of rendering flesh, and soon the blood drain for Chelsea's face.

At that precise moment the dark figure's head rose from the dead animal in which it feasted on.

'_A ghoul!' _

The second those sickly yellow eyes met hers, Chelsea let he arrow fly. But the projectile sank harmlessly into the frozen ground over the monster's shoulder. The creature let forth a breathy howl, causing Chelsea shrieked and run towards the torches as fast as her small feet could carry her.

Racing over the frozen ground, Chelsea was so scared she could scarcely draw in a breath. She didn't even have to look over her shoulder to know that the zombie was steadily lurching after her. Her stomach dropped at the realization that it was probably easier to rip into a fresh warm body rather than a half frozen carcass. Desperately the pink haired girl pumped her arms and charged blindly forward.

The leg of a torn carcass caught her foot and Chelsea fell heavily to the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs. Terror stricken, she wheezed helplessly on the cold ground as the ominous sounds grew louder and the acrid stink of decaying flesh became stronger. The zombie, moved fast for something that was mostly dead in the first place.

Her bow lay on the ground a couple of feet away, and her quiver became a weight that served only to anchor the young archer to the ground. Cornered, Chelsea did the only thing her body and mind was capable of at the moment.

"GARR! GARR!" she screamed over and over.

The young archer cowered as the monster loomed over her. What was left of the creatures eyes oozed out of its skull and plopped noisily onto Chelsea's leg. Its gaping mouth held a handful of hooked rotting teeth as is spewed a potent mixture of spit and decay.

Crying, Chelsea shielded her face in a last desperate act.

Suddenly there was a gross wet **"thunk"** and the ghoul fell the to the ground in two separate pieces.

Shocked and trembling, Chelsea sat up only to get a close up view of a bone structure and rotting organs lying on the ground perfectly sliced down the middle on either side of her.

Chelsea blinked wide-eyed and confused. Suddenly a frigid breeze temporarily cleared the heavy clouds away from the moon. Standing before her was a tall… _thing_ covered in gore and wielding an equally gore-covered axe.

"… what's a little girl doing here?" it said rasped hoarsely, with lips pulled back in grotesque leer.

'_Oh gods! It spoke!' _

If her grandfather had taught her anything about monsters, it was that monsters with the ability to speak human language were the most dangerous of all! Chelsea readied herself to shriek again, promising herself not to stop until Garr was right there by her side.

The monster reached out and that was all it took for Chelsea to unleash the shrill power of her lungs.

"… uhh…!" the monster made some kind of strange defensive motion, which had the girl screaming all the louder.

"Chelseaaa!" Hoof beats thundered hard across ground on which the pink haired girl had fallen.

Recognition made tears of relief spring to Chelsea's terrified eyes. "Garr!"

He was certainly a sight for sore eyes with his platinum hair ripping in the wind, and his ice blue eyes gleaming dangerously in the moonlight. Chelsea was about ready to swoon, whether from terror or awe she did not know.

Garr fluidly swung off his saddle, kicking aside gruesome livestock remains as he gallantly rushed to the girl's side, sword drawn.

Chelsea pointed wordlessly to the threat before them. But instead attacking the beast, Garr froze and cocked his head to the side curiously. He looked at the bisected ghoul at his feet, entrails glistening in the moonlight, and then up again. And to Chelsea's cofounded horror he sheathed his sword and stepped toward the axe-totting biped.

"Soldier, state your name," he ordered, eyes narrowed with uncertainty.

Wide-eyed and trembling Chelsea couldn't imagine what was going through Garr's head. Why didn't he just kill the thing?

To add to the growing absurdity of the situation, the monstrosity spoke in a surprisingly human voice, saying, "Its me, Garr. …Hold on, give me a second."

The monster threw off its hood and then dragged a dirty hand across its face. Chelsea felt herself rooted to the spot in both disgust and fascination as the sludge and filth moved aside like a big gelatinous piece of skin.

In the place of the monster was a very dirty, yet oddly familiar woman with red hair. A part of Chelsea's brain that wasn't frozen in terror recalled this person as the big redheaded lady that liked to wander around the palace kitchens.

"By the will of Atomi, Mary?" Garr exclaimed; a little too happily for Chelsea's taste.

The Mary person beamed and grabbed Garr's arm in a warrior's handshake, which to Chelsea looked too much like a hug. Way too much like a hug. Chelsea cringed at the squishy sound made whenever the woman moved; she was absolutely filthy!

The redhead pulled away, and said animatedly, "It's been over a year, Garr. Thought I was seeing things when the royal banner showed up out of nowhere."

Garr held his arms out and looked down at the mess that had been unintentionally transferred to his battle gear. "Yes, likewise. Seeing you is quiet shocking. But I must say it is wonderful to see you again."

'_What was this?' _Chelsea's inwardly screamed. Had they forgotten she was cold and pitiful on the ground? The teen's chest began to constrict and she felt hot moisture pool behind her eyes as the two adults continued to ignore her.

"But, Mary how-"

The untimely reunion was soon interrupted by a loud broken sob.

A floodgate of tears burst open as Chelsea sobbed uncontrollably on the frigid ground. Terror, relief, confusion and annoyance overloaded the girls developing psyche, resulting in harrowing breakdown.

Garr cursed his carelessness and quickly pivoted to help Chelsea to her feet. In her watery vision Garr looked caught between concern and anxiousness. She clung to him trying her best to suck up tears that seemed to fall despite her best efforts.

To Chelsea's dismay the redhead also hovered. But the young archer wanted nothing to do with the lady that nearly scared her half to death.

"It's ok. I mean. I didn't mean to scare you," Mary awkwardly tried; her brow was furrowed in worried concentrating.

Chelsea glared tearfully at the other woman. She might think about forgiving the woman if she dropped that infernal nasty axe. It was like something out of a nightmare, simply horrendous!

Ultimately Chelsea's answer to the apology was to further cling to Garr and cry some more.

Chelsea could feel the two adults exchange uneasy glances over her head. Then that woman had the nerve to speak to Garr and say, "Sorry. I guess I looked like one of those zombies since I'm covered from head to toe in them. They kind of explode if you hit them too hard."

The woman then carelessly flicked her wrist and a glob of ichor fell to the frozen ground with a sickening "plop". Chelsea gave a tiny shriek, and clung closer to Garr while sending another tearful glare at Mary.

Garr gave up trying to pry Chelsea's small fists from his heavy cloak. "No, all is well," he patted the top of Chelsea's pink hair, "she just had a bad scare."

Chelsea begged to differ. The woman's mere presence was killing her!

"Chelsea, please. This is not the time," Garr pleaded. "We must get you to safety."

The pink haired teen took a deep breath and then hiccupped a couple of times, but gradually brought her tears under control.

"That's better," Garr patted her head again. "Now, don't you have something to say to Captain Argent?"

Chelsea looked at Garr with puffy red-rimmed eyes, clearly confused. As far as she was concerned she owed this woman nothing, besides Garr would have saved her in time anyway. And they could have skipped this entire ridiculous scene.

For two long moments Chelsea willfully kept her mouth shut. However, she wasn't prepared when Garr forcefully turned her around by the shoulder to look at the redhead.

"Mary, we do not know how to thank you. We are forever in your debt," Garr bowed to the so-called captain. Then, without looking, he made Chelsea bow as well by placing a gauntlet-clad hand on her head and forcing the girl to lean forward.

At least she had the nerve to look uneasy when she answered, "Um, no problem. I'm just glad I found her when I did. I was looking for that one anyway," the dirty warrior pointed to the heap of steaming flesh, "we think that slippery guy here was the ring leader."

"I see," Garr said pursing his lips thoughtfully. "But I've never seen a pack of this size before "Is this a new phenomenon?"

Mary shrugged and then casually pulled a dagger from her boot. "Don't know. I never seen it this bad before, either," she muttered, squatting down beside the dispatched ghoul to root through it with the tip of her blade.

"You've got to get the _lens_ before something else eats it and becomes another monster," Mary explained nonchalantly as her knife twisted in and out of the monster's innards, making sloppy wet sounds.

"There we go!" Mary lifted out a shiny spherical _lens_ on the tip of her knife with a triumphant grin.

Upset at being ignored again, Chelsea cringed as the clear _lens_ dripped a filmy black liquid. What was wrong with this woman?

Chelsea crossed her arms against the cold air glumly; it was as if they'd forgotten that she nearly died! Could this night get any worse?

Seconds later, the earth shuddered with the sound of hooves pounding over the ground.

Five huge equines snorted and stomped the grounds as their riders placed themselves in the space between Garr and the red-haired captain.

"King Kelvin!" one of the riders bellowed in a deep voice. A large man in an impressive array of cloak and armor drew a broad sword and held it levelly in Mary's direction.

The zombie that Mary had been rooting through was squashed into oblivion under the soldiers' mounts. Quick reflexes saved the redheaded soldier as she jumped back and simultaneously drew her weapon.

Looking upon the large filthy axe, the other soldiers closed in with swords held at the ready. The woman captain's light brown eyes glinted amber with the basic instinct to fight. Chelsea found herself holding her breath at the tense standoff.

"Stand down all of you!" Garr shouted with enough force to even make Chelsea back away.

The woman on the ground was the first to lower her weapon, but she still kept a careful eye on the soldiers that surrounded her.

"General Cunningham, I will not repeat myself. You will not harm Captain Argent," Garr said sharply.

The large man in the center whipped around to face his king. "Captain?"

The general threw off his helmet and bent over his saddle; his eyes grew wide in the moonlight as if he clearly wasn't expecting this "ghoul" to turn out to be a woman.

Chelsea couldn't blame him, though. Even after she tried to clean herself off the woman still looked a fright!

The general sheathed his sword and sent a suspicious glance at Mary before turning to face his king. "Forgive my hastiness, I was shocked when you suddenly broke rank and feared for your safety."

Chelsea could have sworn she heard a slight reprimand in the general's statement. She know that in the palace, it was no secret that General Cunningham thought Garr too young and unfit to assume the throne; the uptight bastard. Chelsea visibly bristled and glared at the bear of a man for daring to talk to Garr in such a way.

"I accept your apology, but I'd rather you apologize to Captain Argent for nearly trampling her," Garr said without missing a beat.

Chelsea silently grinned at the dumbfounded looked in the general's eyes. _'Score one for Garr!'_

Then the general and his four subordinates turned the other captain flashed them a toothy grin. It appeared as if she didn't mind having dangerous objects pointed in her direction in the least.

General Cunningham looked from his king to the smiling redhead then back again, and them murmured lowly, "Forgive me…captain," he added almost as an after thought.

"No harm done," she waved her arm in a 'bygones-be-bygones' gesture that resulted in another gooey glob narrowly missing the general's leg; he was not pleased.

"I think all of us had a bit of shock tonight," she shrugged, "Who knew we'd run into the royal guard all the way out here? I hope my guys aren't giving you trouble. They're a little too hot blooded for their own good."

The momentary silence that followed was tense to say the least. Chelsea noted that the general's normally beady eyes were twice their normal size, and even Garr had the grace to look uncomfortable.

'_Geez!'_ the pink haired teen thought to herself. _'Did anyone teach this woman decorum?'_

Even Chelsea knew that soldiers must follow protocol in regards to rank.

"We should get back to the battle field," Garr cut in the stunned silence, taking the reigns of his mount. Once mounted, he issued quick orders to the men around him.

"General, order the soldiers to collect _lens_ from the bodies," the silvery haired king noted the looks of utter disgust on his men and quickly added, "Burn them and root through the ashes if you must."

"Yes, your majesty," General Cunningham reared his stead around expertly.

"Lieutenant, please escort Lady Torn back to he village."

"No, I'm going to!" Chelsea stamped her foot on the ground. "I'm here to help you!"

"You will not," Garr rounded on the girl with steel in his eyes. "You've already caused enough of a distraction. Obey your king and return with the lieutenant."

Chelsea backed away in shock; Garr had never spoken so harshly to her before.

"Come, Miss. This way please," the lieutenant offered his hand to the distraught archer.

Garr fluidly turned in his saddle and offered his hand to the redheaded captain, who casualy took his offered arm and swung herself into the saddle.

"Let's ride," the king announced and kicked his stead into motion, leaving a stunned Chelsea and her less than thrilled guardian.

TBC


	3. Lonely Winter Nights and Realizations

**Lonely Winter Nights and Realizations **

Mary took a swig of cider, relishing the gentle burn as it traveled down her throat to warmed her gut. She set down the drink and shivered pleasantly- there was nothing like a bit of whiskey to make plain old cider a whole lot more interesting.

She sat in the midst of a modest banquet hall themed with a natural wood interior and rich green and gold carpets. Mary inhaled deeply, trying to get a whiff of what was in the kitchen. So far she detected all things savory and sweet—her mouth watered. After a hard day of cleaning a field full of decaying corpses, Mary was about to start a riot if she wasn't fed and quickly.

Speaking of riots, Mary settled back into her chair, she wondered what her boys were up to. Last time she saw them they were up to their eyeballs in grateful villagers. No doubt they were in the middle of their own festivities by now. Mary didn't know whether to feel annoyed or grateful that she was invited to sit among the king and his men.

As much as Mary wanted to see Garr, her old comrade, she equally wanted to celebrate her crew's first successful campaign. For many of her men it was their first time ever leaving the mountains, and as winter released its steely grip, the boys were more than ready to stretch their muscles after being cooped up from three consecutive blizzards.

Mary looked around, decorative garlands lined the walls and crafted centerpieces adorned each table. Palace soldiers sipped mead and swapped stories, servants were busy pouring drinks. She set her mug down with an annoyed "thunk".

It was a sin and shame that her boys weren't invited to Lord Berg's celebration. It didn't make any sense! Mary shook her head, making her red ponytail bounce angrily. It certainly wasn't the palace soldiers that fought from dusk till near dawn on the long late-winter night. And it certainly wasn't the blood and sweat of those damned palace pansies that coated the cold frozen ground. To simply put. Bullshit.

Mary wished that at least her boys could taste some the fancy food that the valley dwellers ate—her stomach growled fiercely. The boys needed a little culture in their lives. And what better way to taste culture than through the local grub?

Mary rested her head on a loosely closed fist and lazily eyed the celebration hall's entrance expectantly. Everyone was there except for Garr and the Berg family. Half a dozen soldiers shared a table with her and all were hiding behind their drinks stealing nervous glances. Not that Mary cared, she had other issues to deal with namely the fat finger that suddenly appeared between her eyes.

"-In all my years I've never seen such blatant disregard for the rules! As a ranked soldier you should be ashamed," a heavy fist pounded atop the polished table. Mary caught a wayward mug deftly in one hand while drinking from her own.

"Are you even listening?!"

She wasn't.

For that past twenty minutes Mary had been able to tune out the large man posturing across the table from her. Cunningham was it? Wasn't he supposed to be sitting at the king's table? Being a decorated General and all. And better yet, was there a reason to block her view of the kitchens?

Mary could care less about what he was complaining about. But he was starting to become a real pain in the ass. She quietly took another swig of her cider before finally meeting the large man's eyes and asking, "Got a problem?"

Someone down the table snorted into his mug, and three other quickly looked away to hide their grinning faces. The general's faced flushed an interesting shade of purple. Considering that his up turned nose made him resemble a hog, it didn't make for a very flattering picture.

"Yes! My problem is your insubordination!"

Mary's right eyebrow lifted challengingly. _'Hey. Hey. Hey…'_ Insubordination was not a word to be lightly thrown around.

The swine of a man looked down his upturned nose, rather pleased with himself for getting Mary's full attention. "Listen, lass. This is no site seeing tour. Us real soldiers know to get word from the palace before the setting out on a campaign."

Mary frowned. Who was this jackass calling, _lass_? At nearly 28, Mary was every bit of a seasoned warrior, certainly she was better than a guy who looked to fat to even swing a sword properly. There was something just so annoyingly dismissive about that, _lass_, too.

"You're lucky my men didn't mow you down in the confusion. Your ragtag lot could easily be mistaken for a bunch of bandits."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," Mary interjected while crossing her arms and leaning back casually in her chair. "Me and my crew don't take kindly to threats," she finished dangerously with her eyes narrowed.

General Cunningham's beady eyes gleamed with inner satisfaction, his jowls shook when he spoke, wagging his fat finger in Mary's face once again. "Are you saying that you would raise your sword against the king's men? The king himself?"

The hall suddenly went quite and Mary was up on her feet, and slamming her palms on the table as she leaned over to meet the general's dark beady eyes with her own, which burned with her temper.

"What are you trying to pull here?" Mary spat between her teeth.

"Yes, I would like to know as well," came a deep and cultured voice. "Namely why two of my top officers are squabbling on this night of celebration."

Flanked by royal advisors, Lord Berg and his three sons, Garr stood in the center of the banquet hall—his handsome features set in grim mask. Mary eased back into her chair, face pinched in anger, but with Garr's appearance the urge to fight had left her.

General Cunningham straightened and arrogantly turned to the young king, "I was just reminding captain the importance of proper conduct as a member of the national forces, your majesty."

Garr glanced back and forth between Mary and the general before stating in a voice with strained patience, "I am sure Captain Argent was only concerned about the village's welfare. In light of the situation I believe we can overlook this small discrepancy."

"Small?" the General said irately. "The Phandarian Military is a sacred institution and has no place for those who blatantly disregard our rules. Your highness, I suggest that the disciplinary action be taken."

For her part, Mary held her tongue, but she just about had with this guy. And from the looks of it, so did Garr.

Garr's eyes were flat and calm when he addressed the incensed general; "I see no malice or ill intent in Captain Argent's actions. And again, with the villagers safe and the monsters vanquished, I see nothing worth punishment."

"But her deployment was not cleared with the provincial government, which is a violation of our military's code of conduct. As king you should be well aware of that."

As if all the oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the air, the atmosphere grew tense. Mary was livid. What right did this arrogant pig have to question their king?!

She stood and slammed her palm on the table, which echoed sharply in the deathly silent hall. "So what should I have done? Let those zombies eat some more villagers, so I could follow your silly procedures?" she growled.

Mary narrowed her amber eyes at the general and spat, "Nice to know you royal army guys could care less about the people you swore to protect," She then added with a snarl, "Dead weight like you should just disappear."

The fat general's face went from red to purple. "How dare you mock the integrity of the Phandarian Army! Watch your words in front of a superior, lass, or I'll have you stripped of rank."

"That is enough!" Garr declared strongly, his blue eyes were as frigid and unforgiving as his nation's tundra. " I will not have my soldiers disrespect the house of our gracious host any further and embarrass the crown!"

Mary flinched. It was rare for Garr to snap with temper. It was enough to even make her take a step back and rethink her natural brashness.

"Captain. General. Please take your seats," Garr finished in a much more subdued tone that left no room for argument.

Mary's eyes flashed apologetically as she eased back into her chair. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but even she knew a little about politics, and to not disregard Garr's authority in the public eye.

"Now, General if you will please claim your seat as well, we may proceed with the evening's events." Garr's voice was stern, his request absolute. Cunningham eyed the king quietly and reluctantly walked back to his table.

"Lord Berg?" Garr motioned towards the stunned provincial lord.

"Ah, yes," Lord Berg cleared his throat uneasily and scratched his beard. "My village and I are eternally grateful, your highness King Kelvin, General Cunningham, Captain Argent," he bowed stiffly. "As a token of our deepest gratitude I present to you a feast to celebrate your victory and our village's prosperity."

The graying nobleman then clapped his large farmer's hands together and within seconds servants poured into the banquet hall carrying platters loaded with fresh bread, roasts and an assortment of dishes truly fit for a king. With the promise of food, Mary nearly forgot that she was only seconds away from planting her fist into the fat general's nose.

** vVv**

Seated at the main table, Garr silently battled an oncoming migraine. Seeing two of his soldiers in a spat was the last thing he had needed. Not after the lecture he gave Chelsea, which ultimately led the young girl to barricade herself in the manor's guest room for the night.

And when had Mary get so argumentative?!

This was supposed to be such a simple mission—the most clear-cut of his kingly duties. Protect the people. For once he'd like to go somewhere, where neither politics or posturing took place. Garr had enough of that at the palace.

Sadly this wasn't the first time his authority as king had been so brazenly challenged. But for his general to instigate such a scene was intolerable—he'd have to have a word with Cunningham later.

Master Alba, his mentor, had warned him to handle these situations with care, for a king with enemies within his inner circles did not last long on the throne.

A heaping plate and wine glass were placed in front of him. Garr thanked the serving maid, but found that he hardly had the energy to eat. But the sidelong glance from his advisor (overseer) forced Garr to at least make a token effort. Opportunist in the Royal Court had eyes and ears all over, and the last thing Garr wanted to do was give them any more ammunition to challenge his competency.

It wasn't long before Garr's eyes began to seek out Mary. The sight of her placated some of the stress roiling inside of him. Her easy smile and steadfast presence made him ache for the open road and his comrades-a time when his goals were clear and his mind at peace with steadfast resolution.

At that moment the youngest Berg son had taken the seat next to Mary. His young face was scared and apologetic. Feigning interest in his wine glass, Garr discreetly eavesdropped, a skill that has saved his life on more than one occasion, to the exchange between Mary and the boy.

Young Alton Berg hung his head low and mumble quietly, "I'm sorry this is my fault, I never wanted you to get in trouble, Mary. "

"You've got nothing to apologize for kid," Mary rustled the young man's hair affectionately. "Its not your fault, the general just has his head up his ass."

The noble youth's face flushed at the use of such coarse language, but soon a tentative smile spread across his young features. Even Garr was forced to hide his own smile behind his ring adorned hand-he could not have put it better himself.

"Enough apologizing, ok? Now, let's eat. I'm about to keel over I'm so hungry," Mary smiled at the boy, and then shot a wink at an unsuspecting Garr before reaching out to a plate of tender meat smothered in glossy brown gravy.

Garr looked down at his own plate, which the servants had taken it upon themselves to re-fill; not that he had eaten much in the first place. He should have known Mary was keen to his eavesdropping-her instincts were uncanny sometimes.

It was a shame he couldn't properly greet her. The closest he was able to get was when she was covered from head to toe in a gore and all but stuck to his cloak as they road together back to the battlefield. But the brief contact reminded him of charging into danger with his dear comrades, Stahn, Rutee, Phillia and Karl. Despite the dire circumstances that threw them together, Garr was both happy and proud to call them his friends.

His and Mary's contact was altogether too short, for when they reached the battlefield all but a few monsters were already down. Mary was quick to hop off and rally her troops and Garr did likewise, ordering the removal of every single _lens_. Shortly after the clean up was underway, he was hurried back to the village by a few of his accompanying advisors. He hadn't been able to see Mary since.

He watched her slowly draw out the shy young Alton, and even engage a few of his ranking royal soldiers into casual conversation. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Garr was suddenly bitter about the fact that he was seated at the head table. The young king stopped sulking when he heard the slightly raspy tones of Mary's voice carry over the din.

"… Yeah, nothing but ghouls or zombies. I don't know about you, but getting that gook and smell out of a uniform in damn near impossible," Mary said, serving her self a generous helping of mashed potatoes.

Lieutenant Elms, a young lean fellow with dark hair and dressed in the silver and blue of the Heidelburg Royal Army, agreed wholeheartedly with a vigorous nod.

"Yes, you are very observant Captain Argent. The tragic coup by Landon had left scores dead across the country. And facing such instability as a nation, we were unable to properly care for the deceased. However it was the rise and fall of the Aethersphere that provided perfect conditions for the uncared-for corpses to absorb the massive amounts of _lens_ and therefore create the undead monsters we see plaguing the lands."

"Hm, never thought of it that way," she chewed thoughtfully. "I could use a smart guy like you on my team, especially with all the thick skulls I have. How about it?"

The Lieutenant blushed at Mary's praise and muttered a polite decline into his drink.

Garr's lips pressed together in a thin line. Though kind and refreshingly straightforward, Mary wasn't usually this outgoing. Garr wondered what was in that mug of hers, which oddly seemed to be eternally topped off. He couldn't quite remember her being so… three soldiers pulled up chairs to Mary's table…. Popular.

It was strange, Garr thought. At first many were a taken aback by seeing a woman in uniform, and a ranking woman at that. Not only that, but his military council was practically up in arms over the fact he bypassed their authority to tap Mary as leader of the new mountain division. But now it seemed that most of his soldiers suddenly forgot their reservations about female officers, and continued to crowd her with each passing second.

Garr loved Phandaria, but it was not nearly as progressive as Seinegald, where women in uniform were more common. However, Mary's 'take all' attitude had assured Garr that she had what it took to lead the United Mountain Guard.

And judging by the reactions around the room she had the charisma to win the hearts of others- a characteristic one leading others into danger must possess. Garr heard Mary's husky brazen laughter. Even if some of that charisma was alcohol induced, she had a way of drawing others to her. …just not so many at one time. And as her popularity increased so did Garr's unexplained annoyance.

A snowy brow rose curiously as two young men took seats at Mary's table. It seemed young Alton's older brothers were lured in as well. The eldest even had the gall to offer her more to drink. Garr stabbed his steak a little harder than necessary.

Well, why not? Garr pushed back his plate, and took a calming sip from his wine glass. Mary was indeed an attractive woman. And Garr had to admit the deep green uniform dress shirt brought out the effervescence of her red hair. A ready smile and clear light brown eyes that resembled a piece of amber.

In both character and appearance, Mary certainly was unique… And, vibrant, strong, kind… beautiful. Just as he pictured his ideal…

Queen?

Garr's wine glass tumbled to the floor spilling its deep red contents. Two servants all but threw themselves on the mess.

** vVv**

It was nearing midnight and the banquette long over. Mary had drunkenly invited about two-dozen royal soldiers and the Berg sons to "party with her boys" at the town's local pub. And poor Garr retreated to his lonely guest room in the Berg manor.

Garr paced back and forth in his guest room. A warm fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, the natural grain of the wooden interior made for an inviting place to rest. But Garr wasn't tired. In fact he was more worked up than he had been in a while. This startling epiphany seemed to throw his entire being out of order.

Was it due to the fact that he missed his comrades? Was palace life finally beginning to take its toll on him only after two and half years?

But Mary? A queen?

Yes, there was the rich and strong beauty about her. She was tall for a woman too, nearly as tall as Garr. The ease and confidence in which she carried herself made men and woman alike take notice of her. And as before Garr had to admit he was quite fond of her red hair- it complimented her Phandarian tan marvelously.

And strength. Mary was as close to a battle goddess if he ever saw one. Her fire and passion for the fight was infectious, even the timid Phillia Fellice would throw herself into battle in Mary's wake.

Garr always felt reassured when Mary was fighting along side him, it was nice knowing that a strong warrior had your back when facing hordes of monsters. This only highlighted another characteristic of his ideal queen, which was loyalty.

Intelligence? Well… Mary was no scholar, far from it actually. Simply, her intelligences lay elsewhere. Such as fighting and cooking… Frustrated, Garr ran a hand through his long hair, threading the silvery strands through his fingers.

Perhaps he was reading too far into this notion. She was his good comrade in arms; of course he had nothing but praise for her. But that went the same for Rutee, Phillia, and even Stahn and Karl.

Garr stopped in front of his frosted window watching the snow fall outside. This was preposterous. He should just see this for what it was, an unrealistic passing fancy brought on by stress and anxiety.

Hopefully he'd pull himself together before seeing her at the spring festival, which was only two months away.

TBC


	4. Incarcerated

** Incarcerated **

A damp chill made Mary shiver involuntarily. The equally damp wooden bench on which she sat had long ago seeped water into her clothing, and wet underwear was only one item of a long list that contributed to her body's discomfort.

Who'd have thought a day out on the town would land her in prison? Not jut any prison, but the dungeons directly connected to the royal palace. This was not the glamorous city life that she and her men joked about along their two-week journey from the mountains. And the dank wet cell certainly wasn't welcome after promising her men hot food and warm beds.

A droplet of water fell somewhere in her cell-echoing hollowly in a shallow puddle. After an immeasurable amount of time the irregular cadence made by the dripping water proved a severe threat to Mary's sanity. She figured at this rate she'd either knock down the iron bars with her bare hands or bleed to death… which ever came first.

Speaking of blood. Gently lifted her hand only to feel a warm wet trail down her neck.

"_Shit."_

It's been over an hour and her wounded neck continued to seep. Mary held her head back and pressed a hand harder against her injury to staunch the bleeding. A combination of fresh and dried blood ran a dark sticky and messy trail down the frong of her brand new dress uniform. More than anything, Mary was more angry that her new threads were no ruined, they were a gift from Garr after all.

With her abundant red ponytail serving as the only buffer between her and the hard wall, Mary closed her eyes and sighed loudly. What was it with her and royal soldiers? Couldn't they just be friends? Weren't they all on the same side?

"Captain? You ok? Captain?" a hushed voice whispered from the cell across the way. Mary dared not move her head for fear of aggravating her wound.

"I'll live, Horace," she replied. Though some clean water, and thread and needle wouldn't hurt.

"But you're hurt… and its all my fault," the deep and plaintive voice lamented.

The initial cut wasn't so bad, but the scuffle that resulted afterward was what tore her the wound open. Even Mary couldn't play this one off. If she didn't get medical treatment, this might not end well for her. And all thanks to a couple of thugs playing "palace guard" she was stuck in this pit with a subordinate on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry captain…"

Mary huffed in exasperation. If infection didn't take her out, Horace's pity party would do the trick. In short Horace was a baby, a huge six and a half foot baby. At seventeen he was the youngest recruit in her unit. Strong as bull ram yet gentle as a snow rabbit. Mary had quite the time getting him to even hold a weapon let alone wield one properly.

"What did I tell you," Mary said patiently, "Stop apologizing. Its not your fault," she then snapped, "So shut it."

"Sorry…"

Mary glared out the corner of her eyes at the other cell, but she didn't have the heart to reprimand him. Instead she offered a reassuring smile that he could not see.

"Don't worry we'll be fine. I have a feeling we'll be getting out of here real soon," Mary assured her subordinate.

"Really?" Horace whispered full of hope.

"Really."

Mary looked up into the dark ceiling. She could really use a friend right now.

_Garr…_

** vVv**

Soon turned out to be quite some time later. She must have drifted off because when she groggily came to, she was looking at a lustrous crown of silvery hair. Something blunt pressed into her neck and Mary jumped and brought her hand down to repel the offender.

"Please, be still, Mary." At the sound Garr's cultured voice some of the tension leaked out of Mary's body.

She opened her mouth to speak, "Garr-"

"Shhh."

Down on one knee Garr knelt before his friend to studiously inspect her injury. As alertness cleared her senses, Mary eyed a multitude of a shadows holding flickering torches that stung her light sensitive eyes.

She flexed the hand on her thigh, suddenly feeling fidgety. She loudly sucked in a breath when her wound was prodded again.

"Quit that!" Mary snapped. Yes, she was bleeding, and yes, there was a fairly nice sized tear in her skin. Mary knew that much without all the poking and prodding.

Garr's reply was to gently hold Mary's chin to keep her still. She suddenly melted into his warm fingers feeling strangely docile.

"Captain? Captain!" Horace called plaintively in his booming voice. Snapped from her state of tranquility. _That big baby_! The heavens only knew how he lived to be 16 in the harsh mountain range he called home. Mary wanted to answer and tell her large teenaged rookie that everything was fine. But a firm squeeze on her chin stilled Mary's jaw. A muffled "mmf!" was all that could be heard.

"Captain?!"

"Darzen, please," Garr mumbled while applying steady pressure to Mary's neck.

"Captain!"

She heard, rather than saw, the aging commander sooth poor panicked Horace, and relaxed.

"…one of mine," Mary mumbled awkwardly around Garr's callused fingers.

"Hush," Garr commanded still stooped between her splayed knees. With one hand firmly pressed against Mary's wound, the king took a piece of his kingly garments between his teeth and quickly tore.

Mary blinked at the sound of rendered fabric, but was still incapacitated by Garr's steady, yet gentle hand. Behind the blinding torches that appeared to hover in mid air a series of gasps echoed down the desolate prison hallways.

"Majesty!" one of the torch bearers shockingly admonished.

"Here, hold this" Garr pressed something soft against her stinging cut. He then looked another piece of cloth around her neck to keep the padding in place.

"This should hold till we get to the palace", he said soothingly, making sure to meet Mary's eyes with his own.

Oddly moved by the amount of concern showing in Garr's sea blue eyes, Mary tried to show her thanks by uttering an awkward "thank you" around the confines of her improvised bandages. Unfortunately that small show of gratitude was all it took for her injury to gruesomely announce its presence.

Sharp pain lanced through Mary's neck and a split second later the bandages were soaked through with the wet warmth of her life force.

Mary's hand immediately clamped down over her neck. _'Oh, damn.'_

Garr spat out a curse and surged to his feet.

"Get the court physician at once!" he all but barked.

"But- Your Majest" that same distant dissenting voice outside Mary's cell fumbled.

Garr did not shout but his words were hurried and clipped when he said, "Do not question me. Act!"

Mary chuckled, or at least tried to. Garr wasn't easy to rile, but right now even she would snap to attention if he turned that deathly serious voice on her.

She looked up at Garr and mumbled sluggishly, "I'm always causing you trouble, huh?"

Garr smiled back wryly. "You have no idea."

Mary smiled in return a little wider than normal. Her head lolled on the stone, and her pain melted away into a warm numbness that called her into tranquil darkness. The last thing she saw was Garr's handsome face fall with terror.

** vVv**

The sky glowed with crimson and pastel hues as the early spring sun sunk behind Hiedelberg's vast cityscape. In a dark room an old fashion oil lamp burned weakly, casting its yellow light over a rough wooden table, and then onto a pair of folded hands adorned with the silver and sapphire rings of Phandarian royalty.

A crisp draft whistled in from the window that was left slightly ajar. Slowly, the disappearing rays of the sun receded from a thick bedspread that lay directly beneath the window.

Garr's eyes were riveted to the bed across the small room and its softly breathing occupant. Wild red hair peeked out from the roughly strewn comforter as the body beneath covers slowly began to stir.

Mary moved sluggishly as if she were an awakening behemoth from the depths of her blankets. Her hands peeked from the quilt and with slow agonizing effort pushed herself up.

It was strangely fascinating, so much so that Garr didn't even think to offer assistance. It was hard to put into words, but there was something raw and natural in the way that she moved.

The moment was ruined when Mary gracelessly propped herself against the wall. She took a deep breath as if the act of sitting up was quite the ordeal. Frankly Mary looked affright with her wild red hair falling in all directions, her bleary heavily lidded eyes, and blood crusted shirt. The drawstrings to her uniform had been cut away leaving an open view of dark skin between her breasts. Garr averted his eyes.

Garr kept silent as awareness slowly over took his sluggish friend. The sedation she underwent was strong, and Garr was surprised she was even awake. He watched her gently touch the fresh white wrappings around her neck before snatching her hand away.

"Mary?" Garr was nearly out of his stiff wooden stool with obvious concern. It took her an agonizingly long time to respond.

"Hm," she breathed deeply with her eyes shut, "palace barracks?"

"Yes, in the infirmary," Garr responded quietly. "It was the closest," he tried to explain, but found Mary wasn't listening anymore.

"Oooohh… Why's my head spinning?" Mary groggily ran a hand through her mussed red hair, looking a little green around the eyes.

"You were given a dose of a numbing agent as my doctors attended your wound. The laceration to your neck was deep," Garr explained, "so your treatment was rather intensive."

Again, Garr was met with silence as Mary slowly processed his words. It was odd to see her as anything but the proud hedonistic warrior that she was. This open defenselessness, this vulnerability riveted Garr to his chair in fascination. He felt strangely… honored.

"…still stings," Mary mumbled pushing back against the wall for more support.

Garr's jaw tightened grimly as he recalled the extent of Mary's injury, which was an atrocity of raw bleeding skin and exposed muscle. The flesh from her neck was more or less torn open. It was by Atomi's grace that the wound was not deep enough to completely tear her artery.

After a long pregnant pause, Garr spoke. It was time to act like a king, something he found himself dreading more often than not.

"Mary, three of the palace guards are out of commission-two with broken ribs and one with a concussion. I have one broken grocers cart and about twenty of your men threatening to tear down the west gate since this morning. Please, tell me what happened."

It was true. If Mary's United Mountain Guard had not caused such a scene, he would never have known of her predicament. The most frightening aspect was that Mary could have very well bled to death while he was wasting time on the throne appeasing his petty Royal Court. The very thought caused a suppressed rage to bubble deep in his gut.

Mary "hrmphed" softly. Slowly she sat up on the bed and crossed her legs. "The cart wasn't my fault."

Garr resisted the urge to cradle his head in both hands as the beginnings of another headache made its presence felt. They've been more frequent as of late.

"Mary, I need more information than that," Garr explained carefully. How else was he going to clean up this legal mess? The last thing he needed was for own of his appointed military officers to have a record.

Mary's eyes gleamed angrily, and her red hair rose like a cat's hackles. She made a small disgruntled noise in her throat before answering. "You've got some hot heads on your guard, Garr," she finally ground out coarsely.

"I was showing the boys around town when a couple of palace guards came by sniffin' for trouble," Mary said with an angry gesture.

"Sniff-ing for trouble? " The vernacular speech felt awkward on Garr's tongue. He also noted that Mary's language had shied a bit on the courser side since taking the job in the mountains. "Where was this exactly?"

"We were takin' a lunch break by bridge. You know, around the west gate," Mary pointed out the window. "So, we were about done when some of your goons passed by on their rounds."

"Pleased do not refer to the palace guard as 'goons', Mary," Garr sighed wearily.

Mary crossed her arms and with a shrug said, "Fine, patrol unit. Anyway, when they passed by, one of them assholes decided to pick on my poor Horace-I mean-private Cole."

Mary paused and then looked at Garr urgently, "You let him go too, right? My rookie?"

"If you are referring to the large gentleman in the cell across from yours? Yes, he was freed." Garr replied and then added. "He seemed very concerned for your well being." Panicked was more like it, the man was nearly throwing himself against the bars when Garr walked into Mary's cell.

"Yeah the whiney one," Mary confirmed bluntly. "Sure he's big… huge even, but that's all. I mean it took me three months just to get that kid into the sparring ring. Wouldn't even squash a but if I told him to."

Garr found this easy to imagine. The private had young frightened eyes and hunched awkwardly in a pose that reminded the king of a kicked puppy.

"And I take it that your soldier was the one targeted and that he never raised a weapon?" Garr said carefully, raising a silvery brow.

"Of course not!" Mary exploded, causing Garr to worry over her delicate condition.

"…You can't even get through the first city gate without checking your weapons," Mary said exasperatedly. "Sure! Hora-I mean private Cole is big … kinda scary looking too, but that doesn't give your guys the right pick on him. Like I told you, those guys were lookin' for a fight."

Garr stroked his chin thoughtfully; he wasn't so sure he liked Mary referring to the culprits as "_your guys_". He certainly did not condone such actions in his city.

"…He didn't even say anything for goodness sake! He **barely** talks to me," Mary ultimately grumped pounding a tightly balled fist onto her thigh.

Garr wasn't sure if he wanted to aggravate Mary any further. He didn't like the way she flinched whenever she moved.

"And how did you come about your injury?" Garr inquired with growing trepidation for Mary's condition.

Mary planted both fists onto her thighs snorted, "Well one of those bastards thought it'd be funny to poke Horace with his sword. You know, make him dance? And then…"

There was another pause. Garr could practically see the anger roll off of Mary in waves as a curtain of red hair shadowed her eyes.

"Then?" Garr asked on the edge of his seat.

"Things got ugly," she finished dangerously.

"Got ugly?"

"Ugly," Mary said with a resolute nod.

At this point Garr felt he had heard enough. He could guess who inflicted all those wounds on the palace guards. Mary was never one to take an offense lying down. And if experience had anything to say about it, she became even fiercer when her close comrades were involved.

"And witnesses?" Garr hazarded. He imagined sleepless night making this particular paper trail disappear.

"Well, my guys and the whole damn city block," Mary shot back bluntly.

"I'll have Darzen look into witness accounts tomorrow morning," Garr explained exasperated.

Mary instantly perked up, shedding her bad mood like an old snakeskin upon hearing the older gentleman's name.

"So the old man's still kickin' it as guard commander, huh? That's good to hear," Mary grinned. "But he's gotta get a handle on those hotheads. Tell him to knock a few heads together. That should get them in line."

"I will consider that," Garr smiled wryly.

He had almost forgotten that Darzen had taken a shine to both Mary and Phillia. While Phillia's innocence and naiveté amused the old man, Mary's upfront manner and simplicity had completely charmed him. In fact it was Darzen who stood with Garr in his decision to have Mary lead the United Mountain Guard.

They fell into silence. Garr looked down at his hands recalling that Mary was not one to initiate small talk.

"Current circumstances aside, are you well? I mean with matters of your division and yourself of course." Garr's words were a bit awkward in their placement-he was feeling oddly self-conscious. Then again he was alone in a room with a woman whom he toyed with the idea of making queen.

Mary pulled the quilt over her legs, making herself comfortable and replied easily, "Things are good now."

Garr chided himself, for he should have excepted such response from Mary. _Ask a simple question…._

"So… am I in trouble?" Mary asked rotating her sword hand at the wrist.

Taken aback by her question, Garr looked up to see his friend eagerly leaning over the bed where she sat.

In trouble?

Not if he had anything to say about it. Nepotism or not, Garr figured Mary could run off with the crown jewels this very moment, and he'd only give her his blessing.

"No," Garr answered after a slight pause.

"Then I can still compete tomorrow?" Mary brightened.

Confused, Garr could only repeat, "Compete?"

Mary treated Garr to a "_you-should-know_" look. "The tournament. The King's Tournament!"

Garr could have slapped himself for forgetting such a thing. Had he not been swimming in paper work in planning the very much-anticipated event? Had he not sent invitations to every one of his military factions to participate in the festivities?

"You wish to register?" the handsome king's brows rose with his growing alarm. It was a silly question. He knew the answer before the question left his tongue. Mary of all people would have been at the head of the line to enter the famed event.

"Already signed up," Mary proclaimed. "I just want to know if they'll kick me out because the jail time I did today."

"I do not believe you will be disqualified," Garr said reluctantly. Considering the committee in charge of the festival, they probably hailed this little fiasco today as good publicity.

Mary exhaled with relief, "Thank Atomi for that."

"Mary… your wound." Garr said carefully, "You should focus on recuperating for now. So I would advise you not to participate."

"This scratch…" Mary pointed to her neck uncaringly, "… won't even slow me down.

Slow her down? Why just three hours ago she fainted from blood loss!

Garr faltered in the face of Mary's confidence, and cursed her single mindedness. "Mary, for your health, please reconsider joining the tournament. I wish that you not participate."

"Nonsense," Mary waved him away. "I feel fine. Nothing a couple of droughts of lemon gel couldn't cure. I should be up and running in no time."

Garr rose to his feet, his voice quiet yet firm, "Again, I would advise against it, Mary. The sedative you were give is very strong. Please stay at the palace to recover."

Mary titled her head to the side as if pitying Garr for his lack of understanding, "And like I said, I'll be fine."

As if to prove her point, and much to Garr's stunned horror, Mary slid to the edge of the bed and planted her bare feet on the cold stone floor. Before the young king could even form words she stood up.

If it weren't for Garr's exceptional reflexes, Mary would have hit the floor, hard. As it stood, Garr struggled to keep Mary upright while she flailed about trying to regain her footing. Had anyone been there witness to the graceless comedy it would have gone down in history.

"You're not going anywhere. You will stay here until you have recovered," Garr grunted while depositing Mary back onto the bed.

"Ugh! Make the room stop spinning! Please." Mary clumsily covered her eyes with her hands, and swallowing hard.

Flustered and sweating Garr struggled to catch his breath. Whether it was from the brief and ungainly struggle, or the fact that he had felt more of Mary in those few second than in the entire time of their acquaintance he did not know. Even now his hands burned where he held her around the waist.

"Hey."

"Yes?" the king started at Mary's weak voice from the bed.

"I think I'll just lay here for a while, ok?"

Garr wiped the sweat from his brow. "Of course, Mary."

Within seconds, Mary stilled. Her breathing grew steady and soon she was asleep. Garr quietly covered her with a quilt and silently left the room.

Once out in the hall Garr quickly outpaced his attendants and made a beeline to the balcony in his chambers.

The king needed some air.

**TBC**


	5. The Tournament

**The Tournament **

Garr's blunt fingernails dug into the polished finish of his chair arms. The king's body sat painfully rigid as the crowd's adulation ebbed and swelled around him like churning waves. An outdoor stadium, an architectural marvel of iron and wood, overflowed with so many Phandarians that it creaked and bowed under the sheer weight. It was unfortunate that Phandaria's king did no join in the spirit of the festivities that surrounded him.

"Relax Garr, or you're liable to drop dead from an aneurism. At least wait till you've produced an heir before you worry yourself to death" scolded an old man, hunched and shrunken with age.

Garr didn't responded but curled his tanned fingers into tight fists atop the highly polished wood of his chair arms. His mentor, Master Alba, treated Garr to a flat stare; the pinched look on his protégée's renowned handsome face was such a waste of youth.

"Listen to Sir Alba, boy," Darzen cut in with a tug on his bushy grey mustache. "You look like tyrant with the way you're glaring down at the ring. You'll likely scare away all the young ladies, right, Chelsea?" he chuckled at Sir Alba's granddaughter seated to his right, who was trying to shield her neatly done pink hair from the damp outside wind.

The young lady in question unfolded her crossed arms to angrily swiped away at some colorful confetti some fool had launched into the air.

"Sooo booorrrrring," Chelsea groaned to her aging grandfather. "I wanted to go Light Street, to Madam Fior's booth." Chelsea whined, slumping in her chair.

"I don't know why you'd squander the allowance I give you on such shenanigans," Master Alba scolded. "Besides as a noblewoman sitting in the royal box, it is your duty to support you liege. So be still and be quiet!"

"Support him? He doesn't even know I'm here!" Chelsea pointed at her king who had yet to even acknowledge the existence of others in the loftily located royal box. "So why should I even bother?"

"Chelsea, Chelsea. His majesty is simply taken in by the revelry. This is the King's Tournament after all! When all of Phandaria watches the birth of her new hero," Master Alba's eyes brimmed with teary pride. "A hero without equal if you will… The personification of Phandaria's commitment to protect her people. … A symbol of unity for the entire nation…. I tell you Chelsea, you will be challenged to find such noble beauty in this world."

Chelsea looked at her grandfather curiously, as if he had a screw or two loose in his head. She wasn't so sure about the beauty part. As for the rest, she still stood by her case. Tournaments were _**boring**_! End of story. Who wanted to see a bunch of barbarians beat the tar out of each other for hours on end, anyway? All Chelsea wanted to do was have her fortune told, and whether or not a hunky king was in her future.

"Aye," Agreed Darzen sitting back in his seat as if beset with a wave of nostalgia, "Its been almost twenty years since the last tournament," he said proudly.

"I'm excited to see which division takes the King's Prize. I'm betting on our redheaded friend, Mary Argent, she was magnificent in the preliminaries, "Darzen's eyes gleamed with good humor. "Not to mention, its not everyday such a pretty lady graces this rough and tumble tournament. Right Garr?"

"….."

Darzen only shrugged and turned his attention back to the lively scene down below. A circus troupe performed daring acrobatics while a handful of workers hurriedly prepared the ring for the final stage.

Picking up on the lost thread of conversation, Master Alba rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Hm, an exceptional fighter she may be, but I have my eye on that 2nd Royal Squad captain. His blade work is as near flawless as I've ever seen."

"Bah!" Darzen chimed in enthusiastically, "But don't dismiss that girl's reaction time. I swear her instincts boarder on feral. Why I bet she can smell an attack on the wind itself!"

"But you can't win on instinct alone," Master Alba stated pragmatically, pulling closed his coat collar as a chilly wind surged past, "Strategy and patience win battles."

"Typical of an archery master," Darzen chided, "But brute force and raw power can also be a decisive factor in battle. Particularly in her last match, I'm sure that poor fellow won't even remember his own name by the time he wakes up. Why… Mary-"

"…Is hurt and should not be competing in the first place." Garr clipped angrily, his sharp blue eyes hard as steel as he continued to mumbled to himself, "I can not believe I've let such nonsense continue. I should have pulled her from the ranks the second she entered the combatants' corner."

Everyone within earshot turned a curious and cautious gaze to the nation's king. Not that Garr took any notice-he was too wrapped up in his own tirade.

"… and I explicitly said that she rest, and what does she do? She disappears from the infirmary. And when do I finally see her. Here!" Garr murmured under his breath. It took a moment for him to realize that he was standing and leaning ominously over the railing. Suddenly remembering himself Garr stiffly settled back into this seat.

Darzen's bushy gray brows rose up into his equally graying hairline, though there was an unmistakable spark in the aging commander's eyes. If possible, Chelsea shutdown even more and glared hard enough to burn holes into the wooden planks at her feet. Only Master Alba could form any reply to Garr's uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"Ahh….It has been over a decade since you unleashed your inner brat in such a public setting," the old man deadpanned, "But it is a wonder you've kept quiet for this long considering you've witnessed each and every one of the young lady's matches?"

"Here, here. And to think I was about to compliment you on your restraint," Darzen grinned with a cheeky tug to his thick mustache.

Garr only bit the inside of his lip at hid elders' ribbing. Suddenly the blaring sound of a lone bugle cut through din, and his arctic blue eyes grew pensive. The finals had begun.

**vVv**

Mary energetically bounced on the balls of her feet beneath a garishly yellow awning. After the last three tournament bouts her muscles began to seize. Mary knew that if she wanted to win this thing she needed to keep her body warm and limber.

"Lift 'em," grunted a raspy voice with a thick backwoods drawl. "And move that damned hair, its in my way."

Mary took her thick red ponytail and held it in place at the top of her head while her lieutenant, known only as Samuel, ducked under to tighten the straps of her leather armor.

But the sounds spilling through the tent flaps had her bouncing in place, ready to run out into the ring. How could she not get swept up in the moment? The masses cheering and jeering, the grunts of warriors clashing together in battle with a mighty clatter of wooden swords —Mary couldn't possibly keep still. Oh, but she was raring to go! She couldn't remember having so much fun in all her 28 years. No sir, there was nothing like a good honest tussle to make you feel alive!

The crowd outside roared again and Mary's thoughts turned bittersweet. If only Dallis was around to see this… Perhaps they could have competed together?

"I swear captain, yer' bouncin' 'round like one of my brats. Now, hold still," Samuel swatted Mary on the leg with an arm corded with thick muscle.

Mary forced herself still with a grunt as her lieutenant readjusted the leather strap that connected the bottom and top portions of the well-used armor. She was sick tired of all the constant adjustments. One would think that in this day and age Phandaria might have at least one set of armor tailored to a woman's physique-this damned leather chaffed like crazy.

"You about done down there?" Mary peeked beneath her outstretched arms at Samuel's shiny baldhead.

"Give it a sec'," Samuel grunted and rose to his formidable height, rubbing his grizzled chin thoughtfully as he eyed his handy work.

"Yer' a big girl, but if only you had a little more in the shoulders then…" Samuel reached out and reworked the buckles that held Mary's shoulder and piece in place.

Mary experimentally rolled her shoulders and then flinched as if stung. "The shoulders are fine. Its this damned piece around the neck that keeps pinching."

Mary brought her hands up to adjust the leather piece when Samuel swatted her hand away with a gruff sigh.

"Leave it," he scolded leaning down till Mary was blinded from the gleam of his bald crown. "Now let me see."

At over a decade her senior, Mary allowed her second in command's fatherly fussing and scolding. After a turbulent first meeting and a little spilled blood, she and Samuel had both come to terms and eventually became fast friends. Mary would never say it out loud, but she liked the fussing—it's always nice to know that someone cared.

"Come on! Come on!" Mary urged. "Sounds like they're about to start!"

"Son-of –a-bitch!"

Mary strained to look out the corner of her eyes, but was only able to see the curve of her cheek. "What's that?"

Sam scratched his scarred chin and spat into the dirt, "Yer' damned stitches er' leakin'."

"Damnit." Mary probed at the tight bandage on her neck and her fingers came back stained with red. "Well fix me up as best you can. We've gotta to hurry."

"Must've been from the last fight," Mary added as an afterthought.

"Aye, that last fella' was a bruiser," Sam said quickly digging through a rough leather bag.

Mary laughed through her nose. "Yeah, he hit hard… But I hit harder."

The grizzled man joined Mary's mirth as he unrolled some clean bandages, "Aye, snuffed out like a lamp, he was."

At that moment the piercing sound of a bugle fanfare screamed over the roar of the crowds.

"Damn! That's the warning signal. Here let me do it," Mary snatched the gauze from Sam's beefy fingers and quickly looped it around her neck.

"Good?" Mary asked holding down the stiff leather over her neck for Sam to see.

Samuel's dark apprehensive eyes quickly scanned Mary's work, "It'll do, I guess. But-"

Samuel cursed inwardly as his captain was already out the tent flap.

Mary exited the tent with confident stride. Her soldiers, seated in the stands directly behind her tent went wild, whooping and hollering for their captain.

She laughed out right when a few fellow spectators cringed and cowered under her "boys'" enthusiasm. So they were a little rough around the edges compared to some of the other divisions. That didn't bother Mary at all. It was a lot more fun that way.

Mary hefted a wooden sword from a weapon's rack and checked its balance before taking a few practice swings. Once satisfied with her choice, Mary made her way to the designated entrance gate where deep green banners etched with a golden ram in the center.

Her chest filled with pride as she looked upon her division's banner, which was taken up by six small boys in Phandarian blue. She patted the head of a pale haired boy that came up to her waist before perching on the entrance gate to get a good look at the opening ceremony. She inhaled deeply, smelling the grilled meats, cheap ale, dirt, leather and sweat on the breeze. Nope, there was nothing like a good festival!

The bugle this time was replaced by a full brass band, whose triumphant chords filled the stadium. Soon a short man in colorful clothing entered the large dirt ring. If it weren't for those official medals around his neck he would have looked like the street clowns Mary saw performing the day before. Slowly Mary covered her ears; she knew this master of ceremonies all too well.

"Hey, do this," Mary said to the boy flag bearers. They looked at her strangely at first, but behaved, like any good little child should, and followed suit. And it wasn't a moment too soon. At that moment the master of ceremonies unleashed the full raw power of his voice.

"People of Phandaria!"

Well that certainly got everyone's attention, because like magic the raucous crowds were completely silent. The announcer then continued in a more palatable tone and Mary uncovered her ears. With their eyes on her, the small boys followed suit, and Mary was strangely reminded of ducklings following their mother.

"…Shit. Don' know how that dwarf does it, but he does it. Ev'ry time he makes my ears bleed." Samuel leaned his bulk on the gate next to Mary while the Master of Ceremonies launched into epic poem about heroic feats.

"I don't know. He looks like he having fun," Mary shrugged.

Mary stood up straight and rotated her shoulder, grinning in anticipation as Master of Ceremonies' epic poem drew to a close.

"I'm countin' on you captain," Samuel crossed his beefy arms over a massive barrel chest. "I promised the ol' lady a fat bonus come summer."

"Right, right-right. Shhh, I think we're about to start," Mary waved away at her lieutenant absently. The gates before her swung open and her diminutive escort preceded her into the central ring.

Mary's red hair waved in the wind like a banner as her small flag bearers faced off against another group of small boys bearing a flag of sky blue. She couldn't catch a glimpse of her opponent, for he was shielded by their perspective waving banners. By now the audience was mounting a deafening roar as the two top fighters stood in the ring.

"I now present you with a fighter of no equal! The champion of fair Phandaria's capital city… The Ostentatious Sir Oritz! Captain of the Heidelberg 2nd Royal Division!

A dashing tall blonde emerged from behind the blue banner. With short blond hair stylishly swept back and an easy smile, Mary didn't think the captain was hard on the eyes. Not one bit. And from the sound of it nearly all of Phandaria's female populous thought so too.

Strapping, not too bulky. Nice build. Solid. Mary figured he probably had good footwork from being so well balanced. She cocked her head to the side sizing up the competition. If she remembered his last match correctly, this guy was pretty fast too.

"Next, this flame haired beauty is as indomitable as the mountains she heralds from. The fire that ignites the United Mountain Guard, Captain Argent!"

The stands again broke out into boisterous cheering. Mary beamed both inside and out because this was the loudest cheering she'd received to date. It certainly was an improvement from her first bout, where she was met with stunned silence and lone catcall. Mary had guessed it wasn't everyday a woman participated in the King's Tournament. Compared to Seingald, Phandaria was a little behind on the times.

Mary waved eagerly to the stands, her heart racing with pure exaltation and adrenaline. Green and gold confetti fluttered in the air and mixed with silver and blue when it landed on the ground. The little gold pieces caught the rays of the sun's weak rays and sparkled prettily in the air.

After the small flag bearers exited the ring, the master of ceremonies loudly exclaimed, "Contestants lock arms!"

Mary blinked at the assault on her ears, and Captain Ortiz chuckled in understanding. When they locked arms in an old fashioned warrior's greeting, Mary couldn't help but return the other captain's charismatic and playful smile.

"You are even more beautiful up close, Captain Argent," he said charmingly.

Mary couldn't help but through her head back and laughed out right. She answered back with, "You're not so bad yourself, captain."

For a split second Captain Oritz's face fell in surprise, but he quickly recovered with a refreshingly genuine smile. After all it wasn't everyday he received such a forward answer from a lady.

"Why thank you, Captain. Let us have a good match. I've been looking forward to this. It's not everyday I find a beautiful woman who fights as fiercely as you do."

Mary's grin turned feral, "I can hardly wait."

TBC


	6. Champion

**Champion**

A massive audience murmured restlessly, creating a dull roar amidst the chilly humidity on this cloudy spring day. Many people were poised on the edge of their seats scared to breath lest they miss the deciding blow of what was turning into an unbelievably frustrating match. Down below, two of the country's finest circled each other in a large dirt ring, marking the grand finale of the first spring festival in nearly 20 years.

A bead of sweat dripped from Mary's chin and her vibrant red hair stuck to her face in errant strands. Working her fingers around her sword grip, Mary's eyes flashed before rushing forward in an aggressive charge.

With a lunge she sought to knock her opponent off balance. Then a powerful downward stroke was meant to decimate her adversary's defense. Ideally, her strategy would have left an enemy combatant open for a fatal blow. But in this case Mary watched, in blinding frustration, as the comely blonde captain easily danced out of range.

With a curse, Mary dragged her wooden blade across the ground in a furious upstroke. Dirt and sawdust launched at the blond Captain Oritz with terrifying momentum. The small storm and debris surged towards the stands, and numerous spectators ducked for cover under the dust devil.

Panting heavily, Mary squinted into the swirling dust cloud-eager to see the fruits of her labor. If nothing else she at least wanted to sully the spiffy captain, if only just a little. And if he was caught in the worst of the attack… even better. When the dust cleared in a chilly breeze, Mary gnashed her teeth together bitterly. There stood Captain Ortiz, miraculously unscathed and not a speck of dust on his shiny golden mane.

Mary spat out a curse. Wondering if this guy some kind of sylph. Either that or he had a wind charm. No one was that fast, especially not in this sorry clunky junk some nitwit called armor that tournament rules insisted that they wear.

_Damned pixie._

When the dust settled, Captain Ortiz glided forward as if he were an actor on stage, eliciting murmurs of approval from the masses packed into the stands. His style of fighting drove Mary up a wall. Ortiz favored quick light attacks, which allowed him enough maneuverability to dodge and escape any retaliation that Mary could put forth. If he weren't so damned polite, she would swear that he was mocking her.

And what the gentleman he was, too. He never took a swipe at Mary when she stumbled, or never took advantage of the fact that her recovery time was embarrassingly slow. No, he waited for her to assume battle stance before engaging her—as if he was not taking her seriously. It made her feel like an untrained fool. And Mary was sick and tired of it. Literally.

Hot bile surged up her throat, but Mary clamped her teeth shut with grim determination to keep from vomiting. Thanks to her efforts, Mary was rewarded with a pounding headache and swimming vision. Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently swore never to chug so many lemon gels in one sitting. A fat lot of help they were—her raw wound still stung at the slightest of grievances.

If only Captain Pixie would just stand still for a second, Mary would have this whole thing over in moments if she could just land one solid hit. She was fading fast, and the last thing Mary wanted to do was pass out in front of, what had to be, half of Phandaria's population. As a warrior she'd never live down the humiliation.

Fear of sissy fainting spells aside, Mary couldn't remember a time when this danmable leather armor hadn't driven her more mad. It pulled and chaffed at all the wrong places. It was little wonder Captain Lightfoot was dancing circles around her. If she could take this crap off she'd be able to get off a proper swing, which even that sylph incarnate couldn't out maneuver.

_Hm_….take it off? Why not? An unidentified flying object fell at Mary's feet, as if to admonish her for her distraction. Glaring up at the stands, she kicked away the half empty bottle. The crowd booed and jeered at her lackluster performance and inaction. It was enough to make her ears burn and blood simmer. Usually she ignored such jibe, but her second's bellows from the side lines were starting to get on her nerves. So far he'd called her every name in the book, but her own.

"Damnit! You lazy fool! You gonna stand there'll day?" Samuel spat angrily, his facing turning an unflattering shade of red. Mary's upper lip curled into a half snarl half strained smile. If she got through this match she was going to give him a black eye for all his sweet encouraging words.

Mary weathered the verbal assault with her head lowered, and sweat soaked hair hiding her face. She had to admit it had been a long time since she'd been this royally pissed. Not only was that pretty boy making her look like an idiot, half of Phandaria thought she was, indeed, and idiot. It made Mary want to scream.

So… she did.

** vVv**

The primal wail ripped through crowded stands, startling those even all the way up in the royal viewing box. Small hairs on the back of Garr's neck rose at the guttural sound Mary unleashed upon the unsuspecting public. If it weren't for Darzen's steady weathered hand the poor king would have leapt out of his royal robes and over the railing.

Darzen pulled away and tried to suppress a chuckle behind his white mustache.

'_Wound up tight, are we?'_ he thought with a grin.

Darzen brushed away some of the silvery confetti that drifted into his mustache. He glared at the nobleman's child two viewing boxes over, hurling the shiny stuff over the commoner's seats below before turning his attention back to the ring.

"Spirited, isn't she," he remarked to Master Alba, Garr's mentor, who watched the match below with analytical enthusiasm.

"She's frustrated, and duly so. That Ortiz is a very clever lad," Master Alba stroked his chin thoughtfully. "At this rate Argent will wear out before the next round."

"Don't you think so too Chel-" the old archery master stopped short- his granddaughter's seat was cold and empty. "Impetuous girl," he grumbled to himself, pulling a fur-lined coat closer over his frail shoulders to stave off a cool breeze. He looked up at the thick grey cloud cover, this cold damp day did nothing for his arthritis.

"She's certainly slowing down, but I that won't mean a victory for the boy," Darzen proclaimed. "The boy hadn't been able to land a single solid blow to gain any points so far."

"Quite right. Up until now, she's been able to surprise her opponents with her strength. She is very strong for a woman." Alba commented thoughtfully.

"… Strong for a man too," Darzen chimed in happily.

Alba made a gesture as if he had to agree, but did not appreciate Darzen's poor attempt at humor.

"But that Oritz fellow has her running in circles like a novice," Master Alba stated offhandedly, "If her form gets any sloppier it will only be a matter of time before he lands a solid blow for the win."

Darzen shook his head and idly fingered one of the medals that adorned on his dress uniform. "Mary could be half dead and the boy still won't land a hit," the old guard commander stated proudly of the young woman he had recently befriended. "I tell you that girl's instincts are exceptional! Right Garr?"

The old commander was treated to a steely glare, which clearly stated that Garr was not amused by the subject matter. Darzen returned the expression with a look of parental challenge, thus ending the brief and silent standoff.

"Hm? Interesting…" Alba leaned forward in his seat, ignoring the way his joints popped in protest.

Suddenly Darzen's white bushy eyebrows disappeared behind his receding hairline.

"Has that girl lost her mind?!" he sputtered. "Is she _**stripping**_?!"

Not that Darzen minded when a pretty lass felt the urge to go about in the "buff". But in the middle of a duel?

Alba sat back in his cushioned seat with a mentor's approving smile, "No, my friend. She has not lost her mind. I believe that she is finally using her head."

** vVv**

Mary's throat still tingled from that primal scream, but her head was so much clearer. It also helped that the venerable Sir Ortiz looked just a spooked as half the crowd.

'_Should've done that three rounds ago,'_ Mary thought to her self as she exhaled slowly and casually shucked off the leather armor that protected her hips and thighs. The casual way in which she removed the troublesome armor once again stoked the spectators' ire. The crowd was merciless, throwing trash and hurling all types of colorful insults from the lack of action. Not that Mary cared all that much, though she did make a mental note to hurl another batch of dirt in their direction, though.

Her lower-body armor was soon joined by two wrist guards, which fell at her feet with a soft thump. The armor around her upper body was a little trickier. The ringmaster was just about to intervene when Mary finally managed to slip loose the buckles that kept the leather in place. Something sticky and cakey pulled at her stitches when the neck guard rubbed against her skin, but Mary paid in no mind-it was nothing new anyhow.

She caught her handsome opponent's stupefied expression and tossed the young man a wink. However, a quick look at the sidelines made Mary fear her purple-faced second in command would drop dead from a conniption fit.

Finally the last of the leather body armor sprung loose freeing her chest and ribs. Mary took a deep breath and kicked to constricting thing to the side. Mary wasn't a big fan of armor anyway, especially armor that did not factor in a woman's breasts.

"Captain… Argent?" Oritz asked, his handsome brow furrowed in cautious confusion. He looked back and forth from the angry spectators to his stripping battle partner, clearly conflicted. Mary made a halting gesture for him to spare her a moment as she kicked the rest of her armor out of tripping range.

The roar of the crowd grew, and Mary's predatory senses picked up Oritz's crumbling confidence. It smelled like fear.

"Captain, if you are not on your guard, I will be forced to attack."

Mary only grinned from a cross the ring. He was so polite, so proper … and impressionable too. The conflict in his eyes was just too adorable.

Captain Oritz swallowed and tried again. "Unless you forfeit and drop your weapon, please."

At this Mary's grin stretched into a full-blown gleeful smile at Oritz's ingrained gallantry. She struck a casual pose, and brazenly challenged, "Well, then lets go."

The crowd began to grow even more restless, demanding that Oritz rise to the bait. And Mary fed off the energy of the chanting, stomping masses, which sent an all too familiar tingle of battle lust racing through her blood.

With each passing second the confidence in Captain Oritz's stance collapsed. In the place of a noble knight Mary saw a young man, barely out of his twenties who practically lived to please others.

And predictably enough, he charged. But his heart wasn't in it, and Mary saw victory in those troubled blue eyes. There was no room for gallantry, or gentlemanly honor in battle, even a duel of good sportsmanship such as the tournament. Those without the fortitude to win against all odds were destined to lose.

In a split second they clashed with deafening intensity. A wooden sword went flying into the heavy air before making a muffled "thump" on the soft ground. Captain Oritz doubled over clutching his arm while Mary stood over him with her dull weapon tip at his neck.

All she needed to do to score a winning point was to tap his shoulder. A simple flick of the rest was all that it would take. So Mary was completely floored when her wooden blade fell uselessly to the ground by her feet. And Mary soon followed—a large red stain growing on the front of her rough sewn tunic.

**vVv**

The king and his two most trusted advisers all but hung over the railing, too stunned to move—as were all the spectators in the outdoor stadium.

"Oooh, there she goes…" Darzen awkwardly fiddled with his mustache.

"A shame really," Master Alba lamented. "She executed such a brilliant strategy. Crude, mind you. But brilliant nonetheless."

None too inconspicuously both Alba and Darzen eyed their young protégée. Garr's hands gripped the sanded wooden beam as if to launch his body over railing and into the commoner stands below.

"Don't, Garr," Alba warned as Garr pushed himself off the railing. "This is not you place to intervene."

Garr swallowed and wet his lips as if preparing for speech, but no words were uttered.

Alba, however, continued without any prompting, "You know the political consequences if you leave this box and go to her, especially after your performance two days ago. Some of you detractors are already looking to challenge your miraculous pardon of Captain Argent."

"So sit here and watch as she bleeds to death?" Garr spoke in an oddly subdued voice as if he were trying to contain himself.

Darzen covertly motioned for two of his men to block the stairway, and let Alba talk down their young king.

"Have more faith in your people, Garr. You only have to look to see that the palace medics are rushing to her side as we speak."

"But-"

Alba shook his head firmly and leveled a stern look with eyes that were watery with age. "I know she is a close friend of yours. But if you show her any more favoritism the court and the council will become suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?" Garr demanded. "I do not recall allowing the court or council to dictate whom I associate with."

"As you should," Darzen found himself cheering Garr's fortitude against the tightwads in the royal court. Though he quickly snapped his mouth shut when Alba leveled a glare at him as well.

"I'm not asking you to bow to the council or court's prejudices. But I am also asking you not to ignore them either," Master Alba cautioned.

"And how does showing concern for a close friend threaten my throne?" Garr shot back.

"Garr you appointed her leader of our armed forces. You circumvented old established laws and made her a step away from nobility in status. Then she resides in the palace under your direct care? Garr, my boy, all I am saying is that the court becomes nervous when kings show favoritism—especially to commoners."

Garr slowly reclaimed his seat, and Master Alba's shoulders sagged with relief. But he could see Garr's mind work furiously behind those sharp eyes of his, they were just as shrewd and calculating as his father's the late king.

A frigid wind blew through the stadium, signaling the onset of evening. But it wasn't the wind that made Darzen shiver. What chilled his old bones was the icy stand off between mentor and former student.

"Guard," a fully armed solder snapped to attention. "Escort me back to the palace I wish to leave."

Alba had to admit Garr looked just as composed as per the norm, but he couldn't help wonder what the young king was up to.

TBC


End file.
